Moving In, Moving On
by BennuBird
Summary: Betty has never lived away from home, and the time has finally come to give it a try. Little does she know just how much this decision could affect the rest of her life. Includes some Season 3 spoilers. DxB
1. Leaving the Nest

**DISCLAIMER:** These wonderful characters are all the brainchildren of Silvio Horta and I don't own a single one of them. Drat.

* * *

**Chapter One**

_Leaving the Nest_

"Careful with that, you guys!" Betty cried as the lumpy brown couch she'd found on CraigsList careened through the tiny doorway. "That thing cost me fifty bucks!"

With a resounding bang, the couch dropped to the ground, stuck partway through the door at a peculiar angle. Ignacio leaned back against the wall to catch his breath for a moment.

"Papi, are you OK?" Betty asked, suddenly concerned that moving her furniture might make her father have a heart attack. "You should sit down. I'll get you some water." She practically shoved him onto one of the cheap wooden dining chairs standing haphazardly in the center of the room. Before he could protest, she had sidled past Hilda and Justin where they sat dutifully assembling an IKEA dining table and had rushed into the kitchen to get him a drink.

"At this rate, we'll never get her moved in," Ignacio muttered, though he watched after his youngest daughter fondly.

"Or we'll die trying," Daniel peered in from the other side of the doorframe, trying his best to hide the fact that he was more than a little winded himself. "Mr. Suarez, I'm sure Justin can lug this thing with me if—"

"Yeah, I can help Daniel!" Justin exclaimed, looking up with bright eyes.

"I'm fine," Ignacio bristled, sitting up a little straighter. "I'm not a feeble old man just yet, I think I can still get a couch up a few flights of stairs."

"Seven flights of stairs," Daniel amended. "And no elevator."

A slurred voice shouting obscenities on the street far below carried up to their ears, and both men glanced towards the open window uneasily.

"This neighborhood doesn't seem very…" Ignacio trailed off, then lowered his voice. "Did you see those boys smoking on the steps downstairs?"

Oh yes, Daniel had definitely seen them. Moreover, once the Suarezes had gone inside he had taken it upon himself to politely tell said boys to get the hell away from Betty's apartment complex. And he'd had to fight back a powerful urge to throw his assistant over his shoulder, whisk her off to Soho and set her up in a penthouse with a burly security guard stationed at the front door.

"I can hear you, you know!" Betty called from the kitchen. "This neighborhood isn't any more dangerous than Jackson Heights, Papi. Ugh, where did I put the cups? Hilda, are they in one of the boxes out there?"

Hilda looked up from the assembly instructions she and Justin were boggling over and eyed the dozens of boxes stacked precariously in every corner of the room.

"Probably. You wanna come figure out which one?" Hilda said.

Betty emerged from the kitchen looking thoroughly flustered, red glasses crooked and thick black hair a tangled mess from the countless times she had run her fingers through it in agitation that day. Leaning against the doorframe, Daniel couldn't help but smile; he could almost see the gears turning in her head as she tried to figure out her next course of action. She stared at the intimidating number of boxes before her.

"Right," she muttered. "OK. We'll worry about cups later. First, the couch." And, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, she marched right over and positioned herself at the other end of the couch, ready to lift. Daniel just stared at her.

"Betty…" he began, but Ignacio beat him to the punch.

"M'ija, what are you doing? You can't lift that, let me--"

"No," Betty said firmly, despite the exhausted shrillness in her voice. "You are going to sit."

The two men looked at her like she was speaking another language. There was no way she could lift that couch. She looked so tiny just standing next to the thing that Daniel was afraid she might break if she even attempted it.

"Papi. Sit," she ordered, then turned to Daniel with businesslike brusqueness. "On three."

"Betty, I really don't think this is a good--"

"One," Betty said. Daniel sighed. She had that look in her eyes, the one that meant arguing would be little more than an exercise in listening to his own voice. He said a silent prayer that the Suarezes had a first aid kit on hand.

"Two."

They both crouched down, ready to lift.

"Three."

With a mighty heave, the couch was in the air. Betty's side dipped significantly closer to the floor than Daniel's, but she'd at least gotten it up. Her face was red and she irritably blew a loose strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Betty, are you--?"

"Just move it!" she cried, her voice strained. Daniel shut up and obeyed. It took a bit of back-and-forth work to get the thing through the doorway, which was just slightly too narrow, but soon enough they dropped it in the center of the living room with a triumphant thud.

Betty collapsed onto the couch.

"I think I broke my back," she groaned.

Daniel and Ignacio were beside her in an instant.

"Seriously?" Daniel asked. She rolled her eyes.

"No," her voice was tired but she smiled teasingly up at him, black hair framing her face in a sort of psychotic halo. He found himself grinning stupidly back at her, an embarrassing habit he seemed to have developed of late.

"Do you need ice, m'ija?" Ignacio asked, taking her arm and helping her sit upright. "Does anything hurt?"

But before she could answer, there was a great crash from the other side of the room. All three of their heads whipped around just in time to see the nearly-finished table collapse to the floor in a thousand pieces.

"Eeee!" Justin squealed, scrambling away and clutching his hands over his head as though the table were going to chase him down.

"Ay, this is impossible!" Hilda cried, standing amidst scattered wooden parts and tiny screws. She crumpled the instructions and hurled them to the ground in frustration. Finally convinced he was safe from falling bits of table, Justin peered through his hands at the others with a long-suffering expression.

"Hilda, it's IKEA," Betty said. "How hard can it be?"

"Oh, so that's how it is, huh? OK then, if you know so much why don't _you_ put the damn thing together?" Hilda said, stalking away from the pathetic pile of dining room table and throwing herself into the nearest chair, crossing her arms sulkily across her chest.

Betty, looking tired and cross, opened her mouth to respond.

"You know what I think we need?" Daniel jumped in. "Pizza. It's almost nine."

"Oh my gosh!" Betty exclaimed, hands flying to her mouth in horror. "I'm so sorry! I didn't realize it was so late. You guys must be starving. I'll order us something. Where did I put my phone…?"

Daniel shook his head, pulling his Blackberry out of his pocket.

"Nah, don't worry. My treat," he said.

"Daniel, it's really OK, I've got cash…" Betty said as she searched amongst the boxes for her purse. "Somewhere around here."

Daniel just shook his head, smiling. It was silly, maybe, but he loved buying things for Betty's family. Some big and some small--a Christmas tree the first year he'd known them, a bottle of wine when he was invited for dinner, plane tickets to Mexico, pizza to keep them from tearing each other's heads off after moving Betty into a new apartment--but he always felt good about it afterwards. There weren't a lot of things he felt he could offer the Suarezes in return for their endless kindness towards him, and occasionally picking up the tab was the least he could do.

"I want one without cheese," Justin declared. "And just tomatoes on top. I've had _way _too many calories this week."

"Nuh-uh, don't even start," Hilda said, giving her son a teasing shove. "You're the skinniest one here."

"Yeah, could I get two large pizzas?" Daniel said, balancing the phone against his shoulder while he fished out his credit card. "One with tomato and no cheese, and could the other one be a meat lover's with _extra_ cheese? And a cheese-stuffed crust, too. Yeah." Betty shook her head at him with a laugh and he responded with a roguish wink. Just because Justin wanted to avoid the tastiness offered by extra calories didn't mean the rest of them had to suffer.

By the time the pizza had arrived and been eagerly devoured it was after 10:00 p.m. and everyone looked half-dead, but significantly more cheerful than they had an hour prior. Even as he struggled to keep from nodding off in his chair, Daniel had to congratulate himself on subduing the cranky family with greasy food. Crisis averted.

"OK, I don't think we can do any more tonight," Betty said after taking a look at her dozing family and friend. "You guys seriously deserve some sleep after all this. I'll see you in the morning?"

Those words snapped Ignacio out of his exhausted stupor.

"What? You aren't staying at home tonight?" he asked. Daniel suspected he was thinking about those sketchy kids on the front stoop again. So was Daniel.

"My bed's here already," Betty smiled, though it looked a bit more hesitant than her usual metallic grin. "Papi, I'll be fine." She walked over to her father and gently kissed his cheek. Ignacio took a deep breath and made a pitiful attempt at a smile.

"Well, we'll be here bright and early to help you unpack," he said. "I'll cook us all breakfast. We've got to make sure that kitchen works."

"Are you gonna come tomorrow too, Daniel?" Justin asked, eyes wide and hopeful. Daniel glanced sideways at Betty and shrugged nonchalantly, though he knew full well there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

"Sure, I suppose," he said. "Hey, let me call a car for you guys."

Ignacio and Betty both started to protest, but Hilda's eyes lit up and Justin let out a high-pitched squeal of pure joy. It was decided then.

As he and Betty's family made their way towards the stairs, Betty caught Daniel by the arm and held him back behind the others for a moment.

"Hey," she said. "Thanks. We couldn't have gotten all that stuff up here on our own." She looked tired and a little sad. Thinking about Henry, maybe. If Grubstick had still been in the picture, he would have been the one hauling second hand furniture up seven flights of stairs instead of Daniel. She probably wouldn't have bothered Daniel with it if he hadn't been the only option.

But he tried not to think about that.

"It's really no big deal," he said, then noticed that her face looked a little too pale for his liking. "Are you going to be OK?"

"What?" she started as though her mind had been somewhere else entirely, then waved him off. "Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno," he said, glancing at the peeling paint on the hallway walls. "If you need anything, call me."

"Yeah," she managed a timid little smile. God, she looked so vulnerable. How could he possibly leave her here in a building that he had convinced himself was filled with drunks and weirdos? Not that he had much choice. Somehow he doubted that Betty would approve of him camping out on her doormat all night.

"OK," he said. "'Night, then."

"'Night."

It was ridiculous, he knew, to worry about Betty spending the night alone in that apartment. She was 24 years old. It was about time she got her own place; he'd moved into his first apartment when he was 19, after all. Of course, his first apartment had been a luxury loft in Cambridge courtesy of Mommy and Daddy Meade. But still. She needed this. It would be good for her.

So why couldn't he stop worrying?

He worried all the way home, watching the lights of Manhattan through the town car's tinted windows.

He worried while he greeted the doorman and rode the elevator up to his loft.

He worried while he stripped down to boxers and sank gratefully into bed.

He worried while he lay staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep because he kept wondering how Betty was holding up on her first night away from her family in her entire life. Her first night completely alone.

He worried until he finally fell into a fitful sleep.

But the real fear didn't set in until he was jarred out of his dreams at 2:00 a.m. by the sound of his phone ringing. Only half conscious, he reached for it and glanced at the screen.

It was Betty.

"Hello?" he said groggily.

"Daniel?" her voice was higher-pitched than usual. "I need you."

He sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake.

"Betty? What's wrong? Are you OK?" he was already out of bed, tugging on his jeans and wrinkled Harvard t-shirt.

"Can you get over here? Fast?" she whimpered.

"I'm on my way," he said. "Betty, what's--"

She shrieked. There was a crash.

And the line went dead.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** The lack of new episodes is driving me a bit stir-crazy, so I thought I'd start up a new fic to keep myself sane. Please review and let me know your thoughts, feelings and obscure ponderings. Reviews make me squee for joy and inspire me to write new chapters faster. ;-)


	2. Something Creepy This Way Comes

**DISCLAIMER:** Definitely still don't own any of them, though I wouldn't object to cutting some sort of deal with Mr. Horta...

* * *

**Chapter Two**

_Something Creepy This Way Comes_

There was an ear-splitting screech of rubber as Daniel's Maserati skidded to the curb. The ignition was barely off before he was out of the driver's seat and at the main door of Betty's apartment building. He tried the knob.

The door wasn't even locked.

If the goddamn apartment manager had ensured the building was secured, like it was _supposed_ to be, then none of this would have happened.

He'd tried calling Betty at least ten times during the fifteen minutes it took him to navigate to her apartment, desperately clutching the cell to his ear while careening around New York City blocks at roughly the speed of a jet-powered aircraft. Each time, he'd fervently prayed that she would answer and let him know she was alright. And each time, his call had gone straight to voicemail.

Now, as he hurtled up the stairs two and three at a time, blind panic took complete control. He could barely think, which was probably a good thing, since the few scattered thoughts he could muster were all about the horrific ways that Betty could be being murdered at that very moment. Or maybe already had been.

Damn it, why had it taken him so long to get there?

He rocketed out of the stairwell onto her floor and practically threw himself at her front door. Unlike the main entrance, Betty's apartment door was bolted from the inside. He banged on it with the ferocity of a grizzly bear.

"Betty?!" he shouted. "Can you hear me? I'm going to break down the--"

With the clunk of a deadbolt, the door swung inward.

And there she was. Pale and wide-eyed, but still breathing.

"--door," Daniel finished, his voice now little more than a whispered rasp. "Oh my God. Are you OK?"

Two or three other doors along the hallway opened just enough to allow their inhabitants to peer at the man who had just woken the entire floor. More than aware that they had an exhausted and probably cranky audience, Betty bit her lower lip, grabbed Daniel by the arm and yanked him into her apartment.

She closed the door and turned to face him.

"There's a rat in my bedroom," she said.

Daniel stared at her.

"…what?"

"A rat," Betty repeated.

A rat.

He couldn't decide whether to throw up, burst into hysterical laughter or wring her neck.

Instead, he pulled her into a crushing hug.

"Jesus Christ," he managed. "Don't ever do that to me again."

"Do what?" Betty asked, her voice muffled against the cotton of his t-shirt.

"Why the hell didn't you answer your phone?" he demanded.

"Oh," Betty squirmed nervously in his arms. "I… it was running towards me… so I threw my phone at it."

"You threw your phone… at a rat?"

"I panicked," she whimpered, mortified. "I think it broke."

For a long moment Daniel just held her, silently reassuring himself that she was still alive while trying to slow the terrified pounding of his heart. His entire body was shaking from all the adrenaline pumping through his system. It was like an instant replay of the night he had sped back to his loft to stop Renee from hurting her. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. He didn't even know what to do with himself now that the save-Betty's-life need was past.

"Next time, before you scream and destroy your phone, could you maybe say something like, 'Oh, but don't worry, Daniel, no one's killing me?'" his voice was gravelly. "I thought you were…"

But he couldn't finish around the sudden lump in his throat. He swallowed hard. After a second, Betty placed her hands on his chest and pushed away from him a bit to look up into his face.

"And it took you that long to get here?" she smiled tentatively, hoping a little humor would keep him from killing her himself. "I would have been cut into a thousand pieces by now."

He glared, simultaneously adoring and hating her.

"Gee, that's reassuring," he muttered, letting her go and moving to the other side of the room. He leaned both hands against the far wall and let out a ragged breath, taking a moment to fight back the threatening post-almost-catastrophe tears before turning back to face her.

Mercifully, she had remained where she was, allowing him to get a hold of himself and maintain his Daniel-Meade-doesn't-cry façade. They looked at each other in silence from across the room, him gradually growing calmer and her fidgeting uncertainly with the drawstring of her pajama bottoms.

"Sorry," she said quietly.

Ironically, her pajamas were covered with fluffy, doe-eyed mice. A smile twitched at the corners of Daniel's mouth.

"You realize I ran up seven flights of stairs," he said, at last.

"Wow. That new workout routine must really be doing its job," Betty smiled, starting to feel more confident that he'd forgiven her after all. "Want some water?"

"Please," he sat on the couch, no longer trusting his legs to hold him. She walked past him towards the kitchen, gently touching his shoulder as she went by. The contact was brief, just the barest brush of fingertips, but it was enough. She appreciated his borderline-insane concern, even if no words had passed between them.

He turned and watched her as she vanished into the kitchen.

"Oh crap," she said after a moment. "I still haven't found the cups. Do you mind drinking out of a bowl?" Daniel laughed, the tightness in his chest finally releasing.

"Sure, why not," he said.

Betty emerged from the kitchen carrying a soup bowl filled with water. Grinning, Daniel took it and awkwardly tilted it to his lips, sloshing water all over his t-shirt and jeans. They both dissolved into exhausted, stressed out giggles.

A sudden skittering of claws on the hardwood and a muffled squeak from the other side of the apartment reminded them of what had caused the situation in the first place. They both looked towards the noise and, for the first time, Daniel realized that she had barricaded the doorway to her bedroom with boxes.

"So, about that rat…" Betty said.

"You know those little bastards can chew through cardboard, right?" Daniel said, eyeing the moving boxes blocking the doorway. "He's probably making a nest in your lingerie."

When he glanced back Betty's eyes were wide as saucers, though whether it was because of the idea of a rat in her clothes or the fact that he had mentioned her intimate apparel he couldn't tell.

"OK," he said, setting the bowl of water aside and getting to his feet. "Do you have any traps or poison or anything?"

Betty shook her head.

"Then we'll have to improvise," Daniel said, glancing around until his eyes landed on a solid-looking broom leaning in one corner. He went and picked it up. It felt heavy in his hands. "This'll work."

Instantly, Betty was at his side, hands clutching his arm.

"You're not going to _kill_ it?!" she asked, big brown eyes imploring him. Confused, he held out the broom like the object of swift death he had intended it to be.

"Well, yeah," he said.

"Oh, don't hurt it, Daniel!" she begged, and Daniel could feel his manly protector status being slowly sucked away from him. "Just… get rid of it. Can't we put it outside or something?"

Daniel stared at her, amazed.

"Wait, so let me get this straight," he said. "You want me to go in there… _pick up_ the rat… _carry _him down seven flights of stairs… and send him on his merry way?"

Ignoring the dripping incredulity in his voice, Betty nodded.

"And how do you know it's a 'him,' anyway?" she asked. "Maybe she's a girl rat with baby rats somewhere that need her." Daniel laughed. Only Betty would use an argument like that.

"Even more reason to bump her off now," he said. "Do you really want dozens of little baby rats living in your walls? C'mon, Betty, they're called 'pests' for a reason." He strengthened his grip on the broom handle and turned towards the bedroom barricade like a general preparing for battle.

Betty grabbed his t-shirt, holding him back. With an annoyed sigh, he glanced down to find her scowling up at him.

"What?"

"Don't you dare," she said.

"Betty, I'm not picking that thing up," he said. "It'll give me rabies."

"Aren't there humane traps or something?" Betty asked. Daniel groaned. She wasn't going to let this go.

"Sure," he said. "But I can't exactly go get one of those right now. In case you haven't noticed, it's three in the morning."

"Fine, then we'll get one tomorrow," she said stubbornly.

"You're just going to spend the night with the rat?" he stared at her like she'd completely lost her mind. "After calling me over here and freaking out so bad I thought someone was slitting your throat?"

"Well, she startled me!" Betty exclaimed. "I didn't know you were going to murder her."

"Oh, for God's sake…" Daniel threw the broom irritably at the pile of boxes. The terrified squeak and scrabbling noises retreating from the resulting crash made Betty stiffen, but she mulishly refused to relent. "Fine, then, you and Mrs. Rat have your little slumber party. I'm going back to bed."

Women. He would never understand them. And, at three in the morning, he didn't even want to bother trying. Let her spend the night being nibbled on by a disease-ridden rodent if that was what she wanted. See if he cared.

She grabbed his hand.

"Daniel--"

"What now?" he snapped, frustration and sheer fatigue getting the better of him. Betty shrank back, letting his hand slip from her grasp, and he felt instantly sorry.

"I _was _going to say you could just sleep here," she said. "But if you're going to stay in pissed-off land, maybe I'll change my mind."

That hospitable offer had a clear ulterior motive, even if she wasn't going to admit it to him. Daniel glanced at the barricaded bedroom door and had to fight down the urge to laugh triumphantly. Betty was scared to spend the night alone with the rat.

"Need me to protect you from the big, bad mama rat?" he grinned.

"Shut up," she said. But she didn't deny it.

"I dunno, Betty," he put on his best doubtful face. "I mean, so far tonight you've scared the crap out of me, made me spill water on myself and yelled at me for trying to help you… I don't think I'd last the night." Her face fell.

"But I didn't…" she stammered. "I didn't _mean_ to do any of that!"

"Sure," he said. "A likely story."

Her eyes narrowed as she realized he was teasing her. She gave him a little shove that made him stumble backwards only because she'd caught him off guard. She was surprisingly cute when she was frustrated with him, her brow all furrowed like that and her hands exerting endearingly wimpy force against his chest.

"And now you're _pushing_ me?" he said. "Yeah, that'll really get me to come to your rescue."

"Quiet, you," she said, shoving him again, harder this time. Startled, Daniel stumbled backwards and landed awkwardly on the couch.

Betty stood over him, one foot on either side of his legs, glaring down. The position was downright suggestive. For a split second, Daniel's brain conjured up a potential scenario with his assistant that he had never considered. His gaze trailed from head to hips and back again before he caught himself and refocused on her eyes. Her mouth dropped open.

Dear God. Awkward.

Thrown off balance by his brief but unexpected appraisal, Betty stepped back.

"I'll get a blanket," she said, ducking behind a pile of boxes.

Slowly, Daniel sat forward, running his hands over his face and back behind his neck while he tried to sort out what the hell _that_ had been. Admittedly, he was anything but a pillar of self-control when it came to sexual attraction… but Betty? Clearly the stress and lack of sleep was having an altogether unexpected effect on his thoughts. The sooner he got to sleep the better.

"Here," Betty said, emerging from the boxes with a colorful quilt in hand. At least it wasn't the Little Mermaid. He reached for it but, to his great surprise, she sat down on the couch beside him.

"Uh…"

"Well, I can't sleep in there!" Betty said, glancing towards her barricaded bedroom and looking flustered. As though for emphasis, the rat beyond the barrier let out a string of high-pitched little squeals.

"Oh. Right."

Much to Daniel's dismay, all of the thoughts that had surfaced a few moments ago flared up again in full force.

"Don't look at me like that," Betty said. Daniel stiffened, suddenly terrified that she had developed the power to read his inappropriate thoughts.

"Huh? What? Look at you like what?"

"Like you're afraid I'll molest you or something," she said. "You lie that way and I'll lie this way." She lay back with her head at one end of the sofa and, slowly getting the idea, Daniel stretched out with his at the other end. Betty flung the quilt over both of them. She stretched out a hand and fumbled for the light switch on the nearby wall.

The room plunged into darkness.

"Well… goodnight," Betty murmured from her end of the couch.

"Sleep tight," he said. "Don't let the rat bite."

She aimed a kick at him and he laughed. Then silence fell over them, broken only by the occasional scufflings of the resident vermin in the next room.

Daniel stared at the ceiling, hands behind his head, acutely aware of Betty's legs resting against his side. Studiously, he tried to turn his thoughts to something else. The upcoming layout he was working on for _Player_, for example. They were going to do a sort of trial theme, with the "lawyers" in apparel that would never pass muster in a court of law. Betty had helped with a lot of the particulars despite her overall disgust with the concept, even assisting with picking out the pink lingerie for the…

…OK, maybe that wasn't the best train of thought to distract himself.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Originally this was going to to include the inevitable arrival of the Suarez family in the morning, but it was getting longer than I'd intended so I figured I'd just save that bit for the next chapter. I _love_ all of you unspeakably awesome reviewers! Talk about a self-esteem boost. Leave many, many more for me to squeal over with childish glee. Pleeeease...! :-D


	3. Not That Kind of Thing

**DISCLAIMER:** Pretty much nothing here belongs to me. Except maybe the rat.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

_Not That Kind of Thing_

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Daniel jolted awake with a yelp. For a split second, he had no idea where he was and panicked, trying to remember whether or not he'd been out drinking last night. Then he spotted Betty at the other end of the couch, sound asleep with her head tilted back and her mouth hanging open, and the bizarre happenings from the previous night came rushing back to him.

For a long moment he just sat there looking at Betty, her face smoothed and relaxed by sleep. Her glasses were off.

He'd never seen her without them before. In an odd way, it felt almost inappropriate, like he was seeing her in a more vulnerable state than their relationship ought to allow. She shifted a little in her sleep, and he realized that his hand was resting on her calf at his side.

Speaking of inappropriate things that their relationship shouldn't allow…

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Startled out of his thoughts by the booming knock, Daniel fell off the couch onto the hardwood floor, sending shooting pain through his ass. What the hell…?

"Betty?! Open the door!" It was Ignacio's voice.

"Papi, calm down, it's not like she's dead in there."

"Then why isn't she answering?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because she's asleep? It's eight freakin' AM!" Hilda's voice sounded distinctly irritable, even muffled as it was by the door. No doubt Ignacio had rolled her and Justin out of bed ridiculously early so that he could check on Betty first thing.

"I told her we'd be here for breakfast," Ignacio protested.

"Grandpa, can I put these down? All this milk and juice is really heavy," Justin's voice whined.

Still only half conscious, Daniel slowly got to his feet. So _that _was what had woken him. How long had the Suarezes been out there knocking while he and Betty obliviously snored on the couch? They must be getting really annoyed. He glanced towards Betty, who was somehow still sound asleep despite the ruckus. Amazing.

He stumbled to the door and flipped the bolt.

"Finally!" Ignacio exclaimed as the door swung open. "How could it possibly have taken you so long to--"

He stopped mid-sentence. Behind him, Hilda nearly choked.

"Daniel!" Justin cried, his eyes lighting up.

"Hey guys," he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. "Sorry we didn't hear you sooner. I guess we're pretty heavy sleepers."

Hilda's mouth dropped open in surprise, though she caught herself and closed it again almost instantaneously. But her eyebrows were halfway up her forehead and she couldn't stop staring at him. Under her scrutiny, Daniel remembered that he had taken his shirt off at some point during the night.

Betty's father eyed him with an uncomfortably appraising expression.

"I wasn't expecting you here so early, Daniel," Ignacio said carefully, not sounding particularly pleased. Hilda and Justin, on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early.

Suddenly, all in a panicked rush, Daniel realized what this must look like. Oh crap, why hadn't he thought before he went and answered the door? If he'd at least put his damn shirt back on…

"Uh…" he stammered lamely. "I came over during the night."

Ignacio's stare became palpably more threatening. Wrong thing to say. Backpedal! Backpedal!

"There was a rat in her room but then she wouldn't let me kill it so I had to stay to make sure it didn't bite her," he blurted all in one breath. Quickly, he added, "I slept on the couch."

'Couch' seemed to be the magical calming word for Ignacio. He relaxed, his expression instantly friendlier. Though his smile was still guarded, he clapped Daniel on the shoulder.

"A rat, huh?" he said.

"Yeah," Daniel smiled weakly, feeling like he'd just narrowly avoided a death sentence. "I have to get one of those humane traps for it today. Leave it to Betty to want to keep the thing alive."

"Just because I don't enjoy senseless violence…" Betty's voice muttered tiredly from the other side of the room. Everyone turned towards it.

In an instant, Hilda was choking back a gleeful snort of laughter, Ignacio was back in Father Grizzly mode and Daniel was contemplating just leaping out the window and getting it over with. Because Betty was, of course, still half-asleep, looking adorably mussed and disoriented…

…on the couch.

"Why are you all staring at me?" she asked, thoroughly confused by all the incomprehensible expressions to which she had awoken. Ignacio opened his mouth--

"We brought breakfast!" Hilda exclaimed before he could say anything. "C'mon, Papi, let's get cooking!" She grabbed Ignacio's arm and practically dragged him into Betty's tiny kitchen. As they went, she frantically motioned to Justin to follow. Justin, who looked very much like he wanted to stay with Daniel and Betty, let out an annoyed sigh and trudged after her. Daniel watched after them.

"So, I think your dad's planning to kill me," he said under his breath as soon as they were out of sight.

"What?" Betty asked, fumbling beside the couch for her glasses. "Why?"

"Uh…" he eyed his own shirtless state and the makeshift bed they'd put together on the couch. Betty was instantly wide awake.

"Oh!" she blushed, grabbing his Harvard t-shirt from the armrest and thrusting it at him. He yanked it over his head. "Well, just tell him that it's not that kind of thing."

_Don't worry, Mr. Suarez, I definitely didn't spend last night ravaging your youngest daughter on the couch._

Daniel snorted.

"Right. That'll sound believable."

Betty chewed her lower lip thoughtfully.

"Hmm," she said. "I see your point."

"You know what I think?" Daniel offered, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Betty eyed him warily, the tone of his voice making her brow furrow.

"What?" she asked.

"I think I need to go get that rat trap," he said. If anyone could convince Ignacio that the two of them hadn't spent the previous night macking, Betty could. But he'd much rather be out of the apartment when that conversation occurred.

"Now?" Betty asked. It was obvious that she was going to get the third degree as soon as Daniel stepped out that door, and she wouldn't have minded a few more minutes to organize her thoughts.

At that moment, Ignacio stepped out of the kitchen, a carton of eggs in his hand and a disapproving frown on his face.

"Right now," Daniel said. "I'll be back in a bit." _After you've smoothed things over and your father no longer wants to castrate me._

Betty sighed.

"Fine," she said. "That trap had better work."

"I will find you the trap to end all traps," he vowed as he started for the door.

"Nothing that's going to kill her," she reminded him sternly. Daniel made a face.

"How could I forget?" he said. "Save some eggs for me."

With a forcedly easygoing smile at Ignacio, Daniel ducked out the door and was gone.

It happened even faster than Betty had anticipated. The front door of her apartment had barely even clicked back into place before Ignacio, Hilda and Justin were all standing in front of her like some sort of judge and jury.

"_You _have been holding out on us!" Hilda accused, her eyes twinkling delightedly at this unforeseen development.

"What's going on?" Ignacio demanded.

"Nothing's going on," Betty said, getting to her feet and heading for the bathroom. Her mouth tasted disgusting and she was sure that she had the funkiest morning breath ever. And it wouldn't hurt to escape the fatherly wrath that Ignacio seemed to whip out whenever he thought some guy might be taking advantage of Betty.

"He spent the night!" Ignacio pointed out gruffly, stepping in her way and cutting off her escape route. "What were you thinking, _m'ija_? I didn't think you were the kind of girl who did things like this." Betty gaped.

"It isn't--"

"_I_ think it's great, Aunt Betty," Justin piped up beside her. "So does this mean he'll be coming for Thanksgiving? I'll need to make him a place setting."

"Ooh, use the blue trim," Hilda said. "It'll match his eyes."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Betty cried, holding up her hands for silence. "OK, so clearly you all have gotten the wrong idea. It's not like that."

Her father's tense posture, arms crossed stonily across his chest, made it clear that he thought it was _exactly_ like that.

"We're just friends," Betty insisted.

"Uh-huh," Hilda was grinning from ear to ear. Justin had already found a piece of scrap paper and was sketching out designs for Daniel's Thanksgiving placemat.

"Betty, it's not that I don't like Daniel," Ignacio said, worry etched into every line on his face. "It's just that he's not exactly… well… do you really think this is the best idea?"

"For God's sake, Papi, she's an adult!" Hilda said. "She can sleep with whoever she wants."

Ignacio turned a peculiar shade of purple.

"Hilda. Not helping," Betty muttered. "And I am _not_ sleeping with Daniel. He just came over to help with the rat. That's it. Really."

"But you slept in the same place?" Ignacio challenged. To her supreme embarrassment, Betty's cheeks burned red.

"We didn't do anything," she said, deliberately avoiding a direct answer. "Papi, trust me, Daniel's not going to try anything with me." But her thoughts inadvertently strayed to that look he'd given her after she'd shoved him onto the couch. The look that had made it seem, for the briefest of moments, like there was a very real possibility Daniel _was_ going to try something with her. Her blush deepened.

That had just been an instinct on his part, she knew, and nothing to do with her specifically. He'd seemed perfectly fine this morning; normal friendly Daniel, like always. The man was too highly sexed for his own good, if he reacted like that to only vaguely suggestive situations with women in which he wasn't even interested.

Seriously, if it hadn't been such a disaster the first time, she would send him back to therapy.

"So you guys aren't…?" Hilda's voice sounded distinctly disappointed.

"No!" Betty said a little too vehemently, startled out of her thoughts. "Of course not."

"You're sure?" Ignacio asked.

"Positive."

"Aww, man," Justin muttered, crumpling the placemat design he'd been working on and tossing it gloomily towards the trashcan. It missed by a good four feet.

"So you can stop giving Daniel the stinkeye now," Betty admonished her father.

"I wasn't--"

"Papi, I saw you," she said. "Give him a break. He already had to deal with me making him save a rat at three a.m." In the light of day, she was mortified about subjecting Daniel to all that. But at the time, when she was exhausted and terrified and lonely, it had seemed like a matter of life and death.

"All right, all right," Ignacio sighed, putting his hands up in defeat. "I just don't want you to get in over your head. That's all."

"Thanks," Betty said, letting her father pull her into a protective embrace. "But there's really nothing to worry about."

Something in Ignacio's face still didn't look entirely convinced when he pulled away, but he smiled anyway and headed back towards the kitchen without another word. Hilda leaned in conspiratorially.

"But if there ever _is _something to worry about…" she whispered. "I expect to be the first to know. Got it?" Betty groaned.

"Hilda…"

"And I'll want details," Hilda continued with a wink, unperturbed by Betty's obvious discomfort. "Lots of 'em."

.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.

Daniel had trudged up the seven flights of stairs as slowly as he could manage, the wire cage for the rat dangling from his hand. He wanted to allow the Suarezes as much time as humanly possible to clear things up before he walked back into that room.

When he was finally on her floor, he crept down the hallway and paused at her door, listening to make sure there wasn't any shouting or throwing things or anything like that.

This was exactly how he had felt when he was 16 and his prep school girlfriend's father had walked in on them. It was ridiculous to feel this way now, seeing as he was over 30 and nothing had even happened, but he couldn't quite stifle the butterflies in his stomach at the thought of opening that door.

"Hey man, you locked out?" a voice from behind startled him. When he turned he found himself looking at a spiky-haired 20-something guy in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans, leaning casually against the doorframe across the hall.

"What?" it took Daniel a second to figure out what he was talking about. "Oh. No, it's not my apartment."

"You might wanna try knocking, then," the guy grinned. "I hear it helps."

"Right," Daniel muttered. He already didn't like this guy.

"Wait, aren't you that guy that was shouting down the whole hall last night?"

"Uh… yeah," Daniel admitted, feeling like a massive idiot.

"Man, thanks for that," the guy grinned, drawing Daniel up short. That was not exactly the reaction he'd expected. "You gave everybody something to to be pissed about other than my guitar for once. Nice to have the night off from being the floor jackass."

"I'm sure."

"That's the new girl's apartment, isn't it? Betty, right?" he continued amiably. "I got to talk to her a little bit last night before she turned in. Seems like a real sweetheart."

It was then that Daniel noticed the dragon tattoo on the guy's upper arm, complete with billowing flames and bared teeth, and the gold earring in his left ear. The kind of guy Daniel usually only saw from a distance playing gigs in bars in which he would never set foot. His dislike increased tenfold.

"She is," he said curtly. "I should go in. Nice to meet you…"

"Jesse," Jesse said with a grin that looked almost playful. "Tell her I said hi."

"Sure," Daniel said, turning away to knock on Betty's door, already knowing that he most definitely would tell her no such thing.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Sorry it took a while to get this chapter up! I'm in the middle of orchestrating a move to another state, so I've been a bit distracted. But I have a plan for where this is going, so hopefully the next update won't take so long. Your wonderful reviews are seriously like a chocolate I.V. Keep 'em coming and feed my habit. :-D


	4. Beguiled in B Minor

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these wonderful characters are mine. I'm just a fangirl stealing them for my own nefarious purposes. :-D

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_Beguiled in B Minor_

It was just shy of 10:00 p.m. when Betty finally tossed her pen across the office with a frustrated grunt, watching as it bounced harmlessly off the wall and rolled across the floor to vanish beneath the desk. Daniel glanced up from the rough layouts he was perusing, one eyebrow raised.

"You'd better not be defacing company property," he said with a smirk.

"Oh come on, you want to throw stuff too," Betty argued, sliding out of her chair and onto the floor to retrieve her pen. "It's not like it left a mark."

For the past week they'd been scrambling to throw together an entirely new theme for next month's _Player_ because, at the last minute, they'd discovered that good old Wilhelmina had swiped their "legal" theme (though in _Player_'s case, it was more like "barely legal") and used it for _Mode_'s September issue. So far, all of their ideas had been total crap.

"You can head home if you--" Daniel began.

"Don't even start," Betty cut him off with a wave of her hand. "There are still two hours till midnight. The night is young."

"I'm just saying I can handle myself if you need to head home," he said.

"Now what kind of assistant would I be if I did that?" Betty asked. Unable to muster the energy to get back into her chair, she remained sprawled on the floor and reached up to pull a week-old memo off the desktop.

"A reasonable one with well-drawn personal boundaries?" Daniel offered with a cheeky grin. The memo in Betty's hands became a crumpled missile launching towards the center of Daniel's forehead.

"Ow."

"Serves you right," she said primly, reaching for another sheet of paper. "I do so have personal boundaries."

"Says the girl hanging out with her boss on a Friday night," he quipped, expertly ducking the second crumpled ball that rocketed towards his head. Betty glared up at him from her position on the floor.

"You know, if you keep throwing stuff I'll be forced to have HR enroll you in anger management."

"Fine," she said. "If you want me to go home, I'll go home."

She stood and began sweeping the ocean of paper from the desk into her bag while Daniel watched, flabbergasted.

"What are you…?"

"Well, since you seem so keen on sending me home, I figured I'll oblige you," she said.

"OK..." he said.

"But there's a catch."

There always was with Betty.

"Yes…?" Daniel asked warily.

"You're coming with me."

"That kind of defeats the whole 'personal boundaries' thing, you know," he pointed out, but there was a grin on his face that could only have existed after fourteen straight hours of work. He was already getting out of his chair to help her pack up their files.

"Well, you haven't seen the place since I got all the furniture set up the way I want it," she said. "And you almost died getting some of that stuff up the stairs, so I figure you deserve to see it in action. Besides, I'm sick of your office."

"Me too," Daniel agreed. "And I'll make it up to you."

"Huh?" Betty blinked, pausing in the act of shoving the last of the proofs into a briefcase. "Make what up to me?"

"Stealing your Friday night," he grinned.

"Oh, well, you know me," she said. "I had a million different parties I could have gone to tonight and all, but…"

"Will Chinese food do the trick?"

"Just about," she said. "Let's get out of here." She tucked the briefcase of layout ideas under her arm and headed for the door, Daniel close on her heels.

"Wait!" she said suddenly, turning back towards him so quickly that he strode right into her with a solid thud. The only reason she didn't topple backwards was because Daniel thought quickly enough to grab her arm and hold her firmly upright.

"Jeez, warn me next time you're going to do that," he laughed. "I don't want you winding up in the emergency room. We've got a deadline."

"Why yes, Daniel, I'm fine. Thanks for your concern," Betty rolled her eyes and teasingly patted his hand on her arm. There was a grand total of about an inch between them, and the skin on Betty's arm was unexpectedly warm and soft under his fingers. Daniel's heart gave an odd little skip.

He shook his head. Yikes. The endless hours of work must really be getting to him.

He needed to get some caffeine, stat.

For a long moment Betty stayed right where she was, her mouth inexplicably dry. There it had been again; that weird look in his eyes that almost made her think he had something other than work on his mind. Which was, of course, ridiculous. Because this was _Daniel _she was talking about. He was just exhausted.

She needed to get him some caffeine, stat.

"…Betty?"

Startled out of her reverie, Betty found herself gazing into a pair of very confused, very tired, very blue eyes. Whoops, how long had she been staring up at him like that? Self-consciously chewing on her bottom lip, she stepped back.

Slowly, Daniel's hand dropped from her arm.

"So… what were you going to say?" he asked after an eternity had passed.

"Wha…?" Betty stared at him, perplexed.

"Well, you turned and shouted 'Wait!' so fast I almost killed you," he reminded her. "I assume it was something important?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, turning tomato red. "Right. I was just going to ask if you could maybe give me a fifteen minute head start? We've been working late all week and I haven't exactly had time to tidy up…"

"I really don't care how clean it is," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "C'mon, Betty, you've seen my place at its worst."

"Yeah," she acknowledged with a little smile. "But that's different. Please?"

"OK, sure," he said. "I'll stop and grab some takeout and meet you there in a few?"

"Sounds great!" she said, flashing her metallic grin. She reached out and gave his hand a friendly little squeeze, and the room was suddenly several degrees warmer. "Give me a call if the main door's locked so I can let you in. Not that it's _ever _locked."

She crinkled her nose in annoyance, but the sentiment passed as quickly as it had come.

"I'll see you in a bit!" she said cheerfully, then turned and scurried towards the elevators.

Daniel watched after her until she had vanished behind the silver sliding doors, finding it suddenly difficult to manage coherent thought through all the fluff in his brain. All he seemed to be able to process was that Betty had spent a solid minute staring straight into his eyes at close range. That ought to be illegal.

…what was he supposed to be doing?

Oh, right. Takeout.

And coffee. A hell of a lot of coffee.

.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.b.

Betty's phone sang "La Cucaracha" at an obscene volume as she started up the stairs in her apartment complex. After a moment of fumbling in her massive bag, she fished out her cell and checked the Caller ID.

"Hi, Christina."

"Good Lord, love, you're all out o' breath!" Christina's voice exclaimed. "I'm not interruptin' something sordid, am I?"

"Um, no," Betty laughed. "I'm heading up to my apartment."

"Damn," Christina sighed, but after a moment her voice brightened up again. "Ooh, does that mean Daniel's released his hold on ye for the night? Because there's this new club down on Columbus Avenue that I--"

"Wait, wait, don't get too excited," Betty interrupted. "We've still got a ton of work to do. We're going to do it at my apartment."

"Do it--?"

"Shut up," Betty said quickly, her cheeks growing hot. "You know what I mean."

"Oh, I don't know if I do," Christina teased. "Can't say I blame ye. I think those eyes could make a hunk o' rock orgasmic." Betty squeaked and shook her head, trying--unsuccessfully--to dispel that image from her mind.

"Ew," she said. "He's my boss. Quit it before you completely weird me out."

"I'm only makin' an observation," Christina said. "It's a wee bit hard not to notice you two are practically soldered at the hip these days."

"It's been really hectic at _Player_," Betty protested, emerging onto the seventh floor. She was slowly getting used to the daily hike home. By this time next month, maybe she could do it without fear of going into cardiac arrest.

"Oh, I know," Christina said sagely. "Lot's o' late nights required, eh?"

"Shut up," Betty muttered, fishing for her keys. "Daniel _definitely_ doesn't think about me like that. And I don't think of him like that, either. End of story."

"All right, all right," Christina said. "So how's that musician bloke across the way, then?"

"_Christina_…!"

"What? I'm not allowed to talk about him either?" The sulk was audible in her friend's voice. "Didn't you say he was hot?"

"Well yeah, he is, but--"

"Betty?" A familiar voice stopped her mid-sentence. Keys halfway to the lock, Betty spun around and found herself facing said hot musician, standing just a foot away from her and smiling a smile that ought to be registered as a deadly weapon.

"Igottagobye!" she blurted, hanging up and shoving the phone deep into her purse before Christina had a chance to object. Instinctively, she ran a hand over her wild hair. "Uhh… hey, Jesse. What's up?"

She cringed at how embarrassingly high-pitched her voice sounded. When she'd told Christina that her new neighbor was majorly hot, it had been anything but an understatement. Betty had never been one to go for "bad boys"--seriously, one look at Henry and Walter would have made _that_ abundantly clear--but something about Jesse made her reconsider that little fact.

"You OK?" he asked, looking more amused than concerned. "You're all red."

"What?" Betty stammered. "No. I mean yes. Just winded from walking up the-- Did you want something?"

Damn her inability to form coherent sentences.

"Yeah," he said. "Do you have rats?"

"…rats?" Betty repeated, unable to force her brain to process this.

"Y'know, in your apartment?" he said.

"Oh!" she blushed even darker. "Uh, yeah, actually. One. We set her free. Well, Daniel did. She had babies to take care of." She was rambling and she knew it, but she couldn't seem to stop herself.

"Damn it," he muttered. "I thought it looked like something was chewing on my cereal boxes. You mind calling the manager to get rid of them? He hates me."

"Yeah. Yeah, OK," Betty said, a little too brightly.

"Sweet. Thanks," Jesse lifted a hand to muss his gelled hair and the sleeve of his t-shirt pulled back to reveal the tip of his dragon tattoo's tail.

Betty had never liked tattoos. In fact, she _hated_ tattoos.

"I like your dragon," she blurted. "Did it hurt?"

Something in Jesse's eyes sparkled, and he grinned at her.

"Like getting sliced with an exacto knife," he said pleasantly. "I'm thinking of getting another one."

"Wow," Betty managed. Jesse moved in until she forgot how to breathe.

"Right here," he said, holding out his other arm. Gently, he took one of her hands in his and traced her fingertips over his wrist as he described the design. "It's gonna be a guitar, with some of my lyrics all swirly around it."

Betty could feel his warm pulse beneath her fingertips. She began to giggle uncontrollably, though she wasn't entirely sure why.

"You write your own songs?" she asked.

"Music and lyrics," he agreed, glancing back towards his still-open apartment door. "Wanna hear?"

"Sure!" Betty exclaimed eagerly. Then she remembered why she was coming back to her apartment in the first place. Work. Daniel. Quickly, she backtracked. "I mean no. Not right now. I've got company coming in a minute."

"Hmm, that's too bad," he said with a little sigh. "Maybe another time."

"Yeah," Betty agreed, thoroughly addled by his proximity. If he'd only step back a little then maybe she'd be able to think a bit more clearly.

Then he started to hum. A song she'd never heard before.

"Is that something you wrote?" she asked.

"Just coming up with it as I go," he grinned. "Maybe I'll turn it into something. I could write some lyrics for you."

It was a line, she knew it. He'd probably pulled this same trick on dozens of girls before her. Maybe even with the same "improvised" melody every time.

But she was a goner, all the same.

"Yeah," she managed. "I'd like that."

God, he had gorgeous eyelashes. Women would have committed murder to have lashes like that; it just wasn't fair that they belonged to a man. But they did look awfully nice there. His deep hazel eyes weren't too shabby either, though she fleetingly thought that she would prefer it if they were blue…

Someone cleared his throat loudly. Betty jerked away from Jesse instinctively as she looked towards the source of the sound.

Daniel stood at the end of the hallway, a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and a latte in the other, sending Jesse a look that could have melted stone. Jesse, however, seemed completely unperturbed by this turn of events. In fact, he smiled at Daniel in a downright friendly manner.

"Oh, your boyfriend's here," he said pleasantly. That snapped Betty out of her stupor.

"He's not my boyfriend," she said, a little too quickly. Those words roused Daniel to action. He strode down the hall and not-so-subtly placed himself between them.

"We have a lot of work to do," he said, his voice like ice.

"Sure, sure," Jesse grinned. "Have fun." He winked at Betty and her heart fluttered like she was an addled tween again. Then she felt Daniel's firm grasp on her arm as he practically dragged her through the door and into her apartment. The door banged shut behind them.

"What the hell was that?" he exploded before he'd had the time to think. The sight of that sketchy musician _leaning_ in on Betty had him seeing red; it was all he could do not to storm right back out there and give the guy some nice scars to go with that tattoo.

"What the hell was what?" Betty asked, taken off guard by the ferocity she could plainly see in his face.

"_That_," he gestured angrily towards the door.

"_That _is Jesse," she said, wondering what was going on. "He's my neighbor."

"I don't like him," Daniel said.

Betty blinked, confused.

"Have you even met him?" she asked.

"Sure," Daniel said. "Once. He's an idiot."

"Okaaay…" Betty said slowly, hoping that by keeping a level tone she could calm the man in front of her into a more reasonable state. "Why, exactly?"

That caught him unawares. He hadn't expected to be asked for _reasons_. What kind of person asked for reasons? Not that he didn't have reasons. Oh, he had plenty of reasons to think this Jesse character was a complete and utter tool.

"Well," he hesitated. "He's got that stupid earring. And that tattoo."

"Uh-huh," Betty said. "Anything else?"

Damn it. Daniel stared at her helplessly.

"Stay away from him," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Betty, he's a bad guy," he insisted, his voice tinged with desperation.

"Daniel," Betty sighed. "He was just asking about the rats."

Daniel scoffed. Asking about the rats, his ass. If there hadn't been rats, he would have needed to use her phone. Or borrow a CD. Or would have supposedly found some lost item of hers that he'd actually stolen himself. It was exactly the sort of approach Daniel had used on attractive women in his own building in the past.

"He just wants to get you in bed," he snapped. There. He'd said it. But instead of making Betty see reason, it made her eyes narrow.

"I'm not exactly 'easy,' Daniel," she said. "I was just _talking _to him! He's not even my type."

"Why were you so eager to tell him I'm not your boyfriend, then?" he demanded, knowing even as the words left his mouth that it was one of the stupidest things he'd ever said. Betty stared at him like he was a retarded monkey.

"Because you're not!" she cried. Inexplicably, her words stung. He took a deep breath and slowly let this fact sink in. It was the truth. Why the hell was he getting so upset about something this simple? If she wanted to jump into bed with the musician across the hall, that was her business, right?

He was being a real jackass, wasn't he? And, judging from the way Betty was looking at him, she more than agreed with him. Something in his chest twisted painfully.

"God, Betty, I'm sorry. I just…" he floundered, taking an uncertain step towards her. "…I'm sorry."

"I know," she sighed.

She stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. Relieved, Daniel rested his chin against the top of her head.

What had come over him? What she did or didn't do with that Jesse guy was none of his business. Who cared if it made him feel sick to his stomach? Because it _shouldn't_ make him feel sick to his stomach. Just like it shouldn't bother him that Betty had been so quick to point out that Daniel was not her boyfriend.

But that was the problem. The real reason he'd gotten so upset in the first place.

It _did _bother him.

And there were too many implications that went along with that, none of which he particularly wanted to consider right now. He would have been perfectly happy to completely forget the entire Jesse incident had even happened and go on with their lives exactly as before.

But then Betty pulled away from his embrace and the flowery scent of her shampoo made his knees go weak.

And he realized he was in trouble.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Hey guys! So sorry that it's been such a long time. Maybe starting up a new fic right when I was about to make a huge move wasn't the best plan. Haha. But now I'm all settled in to my new abode and I ought to have a bit of free time on my hands coming up, so hopefully I'll be able to update more quickly. Thanks to everyone who's been putting up with my erratic updating; I appreciate all your reviews so, so, _so_ much! They really are an awesome self-esteem boost and a brilliant motivator to deliver more chapters. :-D


	5. Desperate Times

**DISCLAIMER:** Unless something extraordinary has happened since my last chapter, I still don't own them. Trust me, you'd know it if I did. ;-)

* * *

**Chapter Five  
**_Desperate Times_

Daniel had been doing a downright stellar job at not butting into Betty's life, if he said so himself. For the past month, he hadn't made any comments about the dubious musician living in the apartment across the hall from her. Not once.

Well, OK, maybe once. Twice. A couple of times.

But not lately. A good week had passed during which Daniel had restrained himself from subtle-but-really-not inquiries into Jesse's health, or the success of his most recent gig, or whether or not he had been eaten by the resident rat colony. Mostly because Betty had started giving him the evil eye whenever he opened his mouth and, in the interest of avoiding a ballpoint pen to the heart, he had thought it best to hold himself back. Besides, since the two of them had been reinstated at _Mode _two weeks ago, there had been more than enough work to distract him.

And Betty was a smart girl. Too smart to do anything as ridiculous as get involved with a _rock musician_, of all people. Really, when he considered it like a rational person, the idea was almost laughable.

Except it wasn't.

Because a rock musician would _eat Betty alive_.

Metaphorically speaking. He hoped.

But he could never say something like that to Betty. Because Betty was smart enough that she didn't need warnings or protection from him, as she had made abundantly clear herself. And because he knew that his motives for wanting Jesse out of the way were not entirely pure… and part of him was terrified that, if he kept trying to keep Betty single, she might figure out the real reason _why_.

That couldn't happen. Not without bringing Daniel's entire world crumbling down around him when the inevitable rejection followed. His bruised and battered heart just wouldn't be able to take it.

So, Daniel made a point of not worrying about Betty.

He made a point of not worrying about her when she didn't show up for work on time that morning.

He made a point of not worrying about her when the phone started ringing off the hook at 9:00 a.m. He even answered them all himself without a single complaint.

He made a point of not worrying about her while he pretended to read his email and flipped through proofs for next month's issue without actually being able to focus on a single one.

He made a point of not worrying about her while he glanced at her desk every thirty seconds to see if she was there yet. Just, you know, out of disinterested curiosity.

He made a point of not worrying about her when he called her cell phone and left a voicemail asking where she was. And then left another. And another.

Finally, by 11:00 a.m., Daniel was fed up with not worrying about Betty and gave himself full license to freak the hell out.

"Hi Betty, it's Daniel again," he struggled to keep his voice level as he left yet another voicemail. "Things are pretty busy, and I'm getting kind of swamped without you here to work your magic."

It took a monumental effort to keep himself from blurting out what was really rushing through his mind: _Please God let me know that you haven't died in your sleep, or decided to quit without notice, or skipped town to become a professional groupie, or else I will have a nervous breakdown and Wilhelmina will have me committed to a mental institution and take over the entire magazine. Again. Oh, and by the way, I think I love you._

Instead, he took a deep breath.

"Uh… so give me a call if--"

But a flash of turquoise, hot pink, and a thousand other colors that did not belong together called his attention away from the phone.

"You look different," Amanda's voice carried from the lobby. "Did you do something with your hair?"

And then Betty rushed towards her desk, even more mismatched than usual and looking for all the world like the rats had made a nest on her head. Without bothering to finish his lame ass message, Daniel hung up and went to his doorway at a carefully regulated speed.

"'Morning, Betty," he said, a little too casually. She didn't quite manage to hide a wince at the sound of his voice.

"Oh my God, Daniel, I'm so sorry!" she cried, her eyes wild. "I just woke up half an hour ago and I took a taxi and got here as fast as I--"

"Whoa, whoa, Betty, slow down," he said, moving in beside her and carefully guiding her to her chair. She sank into it with a shaky sigh, letting her head sink until her forehead came to rest on the desktop.

"Eugh…" she moaned, taking several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself and regain at least semi-coherency. In truth, her entire body felt like it had been run over by a semi at least half a dozen times since she'd woken up. Her head was throbbing mercilessly, her joints ached and she felt vaguely like she was on the verge of throwing up. But these were all things she'd just as soon conceal from the gossiping Modies, if at all possible.

"Everything OK?" Daniel asked, sitting on the desk beside her. The circles under her eyes and her unusually disheveled appearance weren't lost on him.

"What? Yeah, everything's great!" she said, sitting up too quickly in an attempt to look like her usual chipper self. Instead, the rush of movement sent a wave of nausea through her that made her head spin. Her face turned a sickly shade of green. "Oh…"

Startled, Daniel put a hand on her shoulder.

"Put your head back down," he instructed, and she obeyed without question. He knew that look too well, and the last thing he wanted was for Betty to get sick all over Mode's new flooring. He rested his hand against her forehead, and her skin was warm to the touch.

"Mmm…" Betty murmured, closing her eyes to stop the room from spinning. Daniel swallowed hard, a strange fluttering starting up in his chest. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to whisk her away, tuck her securely into a warm bed, and hand-feed her chicken soup…

"Ooh, look, Betty's dying!" Amanda chirped brightly, her heels clacking as she scurried towards them. Betty groaned softly.

"Too loud…" she moaned, putting her hands over her ears to block out the deafening sound of heels on hard floors. Daniel stared at her.

…too _loud_?

"Dying? Already?" Marc's voice soon followed. "Huh. I thought that was an emergency back up plan." Amanda whipped around to stare at him.

"What?" she said.

"Hmm?" Marc blinked. "Oh. Just pretend I didn't say that."

After a moment, Amanda shrugged. "OK."

"Time to revel in the misfortunes of others!" Marc continued, and Amanda let out a delighted squeal.

The two of them gleefully shouldered past Daniel to coo over Betty's sickly features as she squeezed her eyes shut in protest. In an instant, Marc had his cell phone out to snap a photo.

"It's just too easy sometimes," he sighed happily.

"Guys," Daniel stood. "Some space, please?"

"What do you want on your tombstone?" Amanda called as Daniel took her and Marc by the arms and forcefully ushered them back towards the lobby.

"Quieter," Betty murmured.

"Really?" Amanda asked. "That's a weird inscription. But, hey, if it's what you want…"

"Don't you have work to do?" Daniel snapped irritably, finally deeming that the gruesome twosome were far enough away from Betty to be released to their own devices. When they both peered back in her direction with obvious longing, he fixed them with his best Editor-in-Chief-glare-of-doom and they reluctantly slunk back to their desks.

Satisfied that the immediate threat to Betty's peace of mind had been averted, Daniel turned back towards his assistant with a furrowed brow. He had begun to piece together all of her apparent symptoms--the oversleeping, the dizziness, the fervent desire for quiet--and he didn't much like the conclusion he was drawing.

Slowly, he returned to her side and stared at her for a long moment. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

"Betty," he said slowly. "Are you hung over?"

One deep brown eye cracked open to peer up at him, her expression pained.

"Daniel, I'm so sorry," she managed.

"On a Thursday?" he asked.

"I know," she moaned. "I was just going to have ginger ale, I swear, but then he kept getting me those mango margaritas--those things are amazing, I swear to God, have you tried them?--and they didn't really taste like they had any alcohol in them or anything so I didn't think it was a big deal till I had to stand up…" She was babbling uncontrollably now, her gnawing sense of guilt taking hold and running wild before she could stop it.

Daniel watched her, amusement and concern warring in his eyes.

"Betty," he stopped her. "It's OK. Really. I mean, come on, I've done worse."

A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

"That's true," she acknowledged.

"Just don't let it happen again," he said with affected sternness.

"Yes, boss."

"Now," he said. "How about if _I_ get _you_ coffee today?"

"Oh, would you? I think that might save my life," she murmured. Daniel grinned.

But before he could stand, something she had said during her guilt-stricken confession finally registered. Something that he had skimmed over at first, maybe because it was easier to block it out than it was to think about it. And now his brain, glutton for punishment that it was, was throwing it back in his face to taunt him.

"…did you say 'he' kept giving you margaritas?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. Slowly Betty lifted her head, keeping her eyes averted from his.

"Hmm?" she asked, seizing her mouse and beginning to click through her emails with unnecessary force.

"Betty…" his voice was little more than a growl.

"Oh all right!" she cried, throwing up her hands in defeat. "It was Jesse. Jesse took me out and bought me margaritas. There! Happy?"

Daniel was not happy. Daniel was the absolute furthest thing from happy.

"You let that guy get you trashed on a Wednesday night?" he demanded.

"A second ago you didn't seem to think it was such a big deal," she pointed out.

"A second ago I didn't know what you'd really been up to," Daniel said.

"Daniel," she sighed. "Can we not get into this right now? Please…?"

She looked tired, and sick, and completely fed up with the completely ridiculous overprotective shtick he'd been pulling on her lately. So Daniel took a long, deep breath and then sloooowly let it out.

"Sorry," he said. "This just… isn't like you."

"Well, everyone keeps telling me to quit playing it safe, right?" she said with a weak attempt at a smile.

Yes. Yes, they did. It had seemed like great advice at the time. Now Daniel wasn't so sure.

"Ugh… I don't feel so good," she murmured suddenly, lurching to her feet. Daniel jumped away instinctively. If Betty was going to hurl, he definitely didn't want to be in the line of fire. But then she swayed, and he couldn't stop himself from rushing back in to hold her steady.

"Thanks," she said, lifting a hand to her head and willing the dizziness to pass. "Daniel, I'm so sorry about this…"

"It's OK," he sighed. And it was true. He wasn't really angry at her for being hung over at work. After all, his sweet, naïve, bubbly assistant would never have gone out and gotten blitzed if left to her own devices. That filthy musician was corrupting the wonderful innocence that was Betty, and _that _upset Daniel more than anything.

"Come on," he said, keeping a firm grasp on her arm. Betty leaned on him more than he thought was strictly necessary, setting his heart racing in a way he had been strenuously trying to avoid for the past month. He sucked in his breath and tried to think about something--anything--other than the warm weight of her body against him.

When they drew near the women's restroom, Betty released his arm at last and he breathed just a little bit easier. He moved to follow her, till she turned back to him with raised eyebrows.

"Daniel, you can't follow me into the women's room," she said.

"I've done it before," he pointed out. Betty rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep from smiling.

"I think I can manage on my own," she said. "But thanks." She reached out and touched his hand as she spoke, her dark eyes meeting his for a shy second, and his poor heart turned to a puddle of goo in his chest. Damn her and her ability to reduce him to nothing with a glance.

Betty wasn't sure if the lightheadedness washing over her was a result of her monstrous hangover or something else entirely. In an unsteady moment, she swayed towards him. Daniel caught her deftly with a hand against her shoulder.

Staring at her, so close, Daniel's mouth dropped open with all the things he so desperately wanted to say but couldn't. Then his brow furrowed as he noticed something decidedly odd, mostly concealed by the unruly curtain of black hair.

His hand trailed up to her throat, and Betty jumped at the unexpected sensation of his fingertips against her skin. What was he doing?

"Daniel--"

"There's something on your…" he began, but his voice trailed away.

A bruise. There was a bruise on her..

…no. The realization hit him like a brick straight to the gut. No, not a bruise.

"Oh," he managed, his hand dropping back to his side.

Betty stiffened and backed quickly away from him. The way he was staring at her--like she'd somehow betrayed him--was just too much. She escaped to the sanctuary of the bathroom.

Daniel stood rooted where she'd left him, staring at the bathroom door with disbelief.

A hickey. That guy had taken his Betty out drinking--on a _weeknight_--and returned her to him with a _hickey_.

Completely. Unacceptable.

His chest felt tight. He couldn't breathe. Uncertain what else to do with himself, he wandered back towards his office in a daze.

He paused at Betty's desk, looking over her adorable decorations and wallowing in self pity. The bunny, the photos of baby ducks… everything just reinforced how innocent Betty was. How innocent she should always be.

Something beeped and jarred him out of his brooding. Glancing down, he realized that Betty's cell phone was sitting less than a foot away from him. She'd just gotten a text message.

He stared at the phone.

No. He couldn't.

…could he?

Before he could change his mind, he snatched the phone off her desk.

_Gig 2morrow night Beer Hole. 9pm. U in? -J_

Daniel scowled darkly at the tiny screen. It figured that the little creep couldn't even use complete sentences. Anyone who wrote like that didn't deserve Betty. She wanted to run a magazine, for God's sake. She needed somebody _literate_.

Quietly, he set the phone back on her desk. As he stepped into his office, he pulled out his Blackberry and created a new event for the following night: _9:00 p.m., Beer Hole - Find. See. Destroy._

This was war.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I know, I know, I totally failed on that whole "updating more frequently" thing, but I absolutely love all the amazing reviews you guys have been leaving for me. I adore you all. I'm already starting in on Chapter Six, and having a blast bringing Scheming!Daniel out to play, so with any luck it'll turn into something worth looking forward to. ;-) Will sing for reviews.


End file.
